


From Start to Beginning

by Cygrus



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-23
Updated: 2014-09-23
Packaged: 2018-02-18 11:33:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2347028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cygrus/pseuds/Cygrus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started with an iced tea and a white t-shirt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Start to Beginning

It all started with an iced tea and a white t-shirt. 

Large and sweetened and accompanied by an order of large fries. Jean Kirschstein’s regular. 

Crisp and clean. Just how Armin Arlert enjoyed his clothing.

Add the local Wendy’s into the mix and you have the formula for a very hectic first meeting. 

Lunch break was the highlight of Jean’s day. His friends would scold him, tell him that it wasn’t healthy to always eat the same thing, but all Jean would do was wave them off. He knew what was good and what was bad. 

He just didn’t really care.

Sitting at his usual table, pushed right into the corner of the restaurant, he would watch fellow customers come and go. People he’d never met before and would probably never meet again. But what did that matter. That was just how life worked, right?

Yeah. Not entirely.

When the slurping sound that signaled his drink was empty rang in his ears, he clicked his tongue and went to refill it, letting the drink fill to the brim of his cup and nearly spill over, not hearing the footsteps that walked up behind him. Popping the lid back on it and taking another sip, he turned, ready to head back to his table.

As luck would have it, he would be taking a detour. Colliding into the body that had been standing behind him, both of them yelped in surprise, the drink left Jean’s grip, and that pure white shirt was henceforth ruined. The cup fell between their feet and began to create a large puddle on the floor, which garnered the attention of customers and staff alike. 

“Shit--” Giving the man in front of him a once over, Jean’s heart began to pound in his chest as he rambled out apologies, said he would go get paper towels, not noticing as he stepped in the puddle.

He only realized when his back was on the floor and he was glaring at the ceiling above him.

_This was the worst._

_Why does this happen._

_How goddamn embarrassing._

Thoughts like that filled Jean’s mind as he lay there, his clothing seeping up the liquid that he had been so eagerly enjoying just moments ago. He sat up, rubbed the back of his head, didn’t lift his eyes to the person who still stood beside him. 

But then there was a peal of laughter. It was soft and took Jean back, made him remember the the sounds his grandma’s wind chimes would make when a breeze blew past her front porch. 

Jean loved those wind chimes. 

What were they doing _here_ of all places.

Lifting his gaze, he was met with a pair of big blue eyes that were as expansive as the sky itself. This person, with his wispy blond hair and parted lips, held a hand out to him. It was a couple of seconds later when Jean took it and was lifted up from his spot on the ground, hardly noticing the two employees that scrambled to mop up the mess he had created.

“Are you alright?” There was still a hint of laughter residing in this person’s tone. 

If Jean had been aggravated before, all of that seemed to wash away in an instant. A few beats passed between them before Jean let go of this stranger’s oddly soft hands and found his voice. “I am. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” 

Was it really that simple, though?

“But your shirt--”

“Oh, yeah.” Looking down at himself, he laughed again, and Jean’s heart lept. “Well, it was new--”

“Fuck, for real? I’m so sorry--”

“I’m not done!” His lips curled up in a brilliant smile. He had slightly crooked teeth. “It was new, so it didn’t have any memories attached to it. Isn’t that boring?”

Jean didn’t understand what that meant. He wasn’t given any time to ask, either.

A tap on his shoulder had Jean turning around, and he was soon apologizing to an exasperated looking employee. It wasn’t a big deal. Happened all the time, they said. Regardless, Jean felt bad, and his face burned in embarrassment. 

With the mess cleaned up and everyone going back to their usual business, Jean felt a sense of relief, but he wanted to get out of there as fast as possible. He would apologize one more time and be on his way. 

That apology didn’t happen. Without even realizing it, the stranger had left, and Jean realized that this person with a radiant smile and beautiful eyes, and a laugh that still remained in Jean’s mind, was just another one of those customers that he would watch on daily basis. 

A person who would enter his life and leave it without making an impact. Just a face in the crowd.

Oh well, he thought. 

What did he care.

\--

Guns are dangerous.

Even if it’s a toy made for an excitable child, someone can get hurt if you’re not careful about it.

Armin figured this out the second time he met Jean Kirschstein, only two weeks after their first incident. 

Weekly trips to their town’s Walmart were regular for him. Stock up on food and household supplies for his apartment, search around in the video game aisle, check out new book releases, and then be on his way. A routine he followed religiously, a habit he had picked up from his childhood when he would go shopping with his mother. 

He remembers her favorite aisle, the same as his. Together they would stand, flipping through paperbacks, swapping opinions on what sounded good and what didn’t. He remembers how he would tug at the hem of her skirt, beg for the comic book in his tiny hands, and how she would laugh and agree after a good amount of pouting from her son. 

It’s been a while since she passed. Armin wishes he could share his new favorite books with her and smell the perfume that lingered on her skin. He wishes she had been here long enough to where he could have seen it grow wrinkled with old age.

Maybe life just wasn’t fair. 

Standing next to his shopping cart, Armin silently read over the pages of the new novel his favorite author had recently put out. There was a certain thrill to it that Armin couldn’t quite put his finger on. 

Magnificent as always, he thought. Closing the book and placing it in his cart, ready for the journey home and a cozy night with the new piece to his collection, he made a move to leave the aisle when his way out was blocked by a shorter man with buzzed hair and a wild smile. 

In his hands was a nerf gun. Judging from the markings, it was used, and obviously fully loaded. The person before him yelled something out. Armin didn’t catch quite what he had said, but he easily noticed that this man hadn’t even been paying any attention to him. His gaze was locked on something else, something behind Armin.

One reluctant turn later and he was met with a dart flying directly at his forehead. A direct hit.

It didn’t hurt, not at all. But it had come as a surprise. Yelping and stumbling backwards, Armin heard a _‘Shit!’_ come from behind him and the sound of footsteps retreating. Rubbing at the spot that had been hit, wondering if it was possible to get a bruise through a toy gun, Armin didn’t hear the culprit approaching.

“I’m so sorry!” 

Ah, that was a familiar voice. A familiar voice speaking familiar words. 

Glancing up, Armin locked eyes with the stranger before him. Could he be considered a stranger if they had already met once before? 

The man recognized Armin in an instant and was left with his jaw hanging open and wide eyes. Definitely dumbfounded. Kind of endearing. 

To Armin, this was hilarious.

Not holding back the laughter, just as he had done two weeks prior, Armin clutched at his gut and shook his head, not noticing how the stranger’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment and wonder.

Tucking a piece of hair behind his ears, Armin only grinned at the flustered man. “Nice to see you again,” he greeted. “You’re a good shot.”

A moment of silence. “Thank you…?” 

“You’re welcome.”

“Aren’t you mad?”

“Not at all.”

Was he supposed to be? How could he be angry in such a memorable situation? 

“I’m sorry,” he said again, but Armin dismissed it with a wave of his hand. 

“Really, it’s no big deal.” 

Being sorry was enough. Both men went quiet, the stranger hanging his head in guilt, but Armin was beaming. His mother would have gotten a kick out of this. 

Lifting his head to speak again-- What color were his eyes? In the right lighting, surely they would have been some kind of golden-- the stranger parted his lips to utter out one more apology, but that one never came either. 

“Jean!” 

Both jumped at the new voice and turned their attention to buzzcut headed boy. 

“What’s up?”

“We gotta get outta here! I accidentally nailed an old lady in the back!”

“For real?! Fuck!”

In an instant, both were gone, and Armin stood alone once again. 

A smile made it’s way onto his lips and he kneeled down, picking up the nerf dart that lay at his feet, forgotten by it’s owner. Rolling it over in his hand a few times, Armin stuffed the foam toy into his pocket and leaned against his cart, a laugh once again bubbling in his stomach.

“Jean, huh.”

\--

Movie theaters were meant to be places of silence. 

A common understanding between moviegoers was to not be reckless and needlessly noisy. Don’t disturb the people around you. Be respectful and for the love of God, turn down your phone. 

Jean understood this. His friends didn’t. 

And because his friends didn’t, then he would pretend he didn’t either.

The movie was shit, according to Connie. Sasha agreed. It was together that they decided it would be more fun to “whisper” as loud as possible throughout it, boo occasionally, and play some emulator game on their phones. 

Jean reluctantly joined in. He didn’t want to be the only one left out here. 

He could hear the hushed whispers, all telling them to be quiet, to calm down, to be respectful. None of them heeded the warnings. All they did was continue on, Sasha even throwing a few pieces of popcorn at another person when he told them to shut up. 

This was getting out of hand. Sinking into his seat, deciding to not keep up the gag that those two were so thoroughly enjoying, Jean tried to focus on the movie instead. 

It wasn’t that bad, actually.

It was only a few seconds later that a form was blocking his view of the screen, reaching over the seat and grabbing Jean by the collar of his shirt and yanking him forward. He gasped, tried to pull away, and was met with horribly fierce eyes gazing into his own. 

“What’s your deal? People are trying to seriously watch this! Shut the hell up!”

“It’s not me--” 

Jean struggled in this person’s grasp, and he could hear the doors leading into the theater opening as employees came to tear them apart. Why weren’t Sasha and Connie doing anything? 

The next thing Jean knew, he was standing outside the theater with two other people, but they definitely weren’t the friends he had come with. After a harsh scolding from the employees, they were left to wallow in their self pity. 

“Dammit,” Jean cursed under his breath, leaning against the building, letting the autumn winds whip at his cheeks and chill him to the bone. 

I have the worst luck, he thought.

In reality, he didn’t. Not even close.

“I’m sorry, Armin. I didn’t mean-- Armin?” 

Ah, Mister Fierce was talking. Glancing over at the two, Jean had to do a double take.

There was a harsh contrast between the two men’s eyes. Jean felt like he was being overwhelmed with that familiar blue. 

“Jean.” 

This stranger again. No, not really a stranger anymore, was he? How did he know Jean’s name? What had his friend called him?

“Armin.” 

Huh. That sounded pretty cool.

“Oh, you know my-- Nevermind. Funny running into you here.” 

He was smiling at Jean. If a stranger were to pass by, they would have never expected him to have just been thrown out of a theater, judging by his cheery expression itself.

“Yeah,” Jean agreed, feeling his own grin form. “Sorry. Like, sorry for that back there. My friends--”

“No, I know,” he laughed. Jean’s heart fluttered. Those wind chimes again. “I’m sorry too. As in, sorry for Eren here.” 

Armin glanced at the man-- Eren? -- who stood by his side with furrowed brows and lower lip jutted out in a pout. Nudging him slightly with his elbow, Armin gave a nod of encouragement, and Eren sighed.

“I’m sorry, too,” he muttered, not looking at Jean directly, but rather at his feet. Jean was fine with that. Those eyes were seriously scary. 

“It’s whatever. My friends were being assholes.” 

“Yeah, they were.” 

“Eren--” 

He was cut off by Jean’s bark of laughter, and he smiled. What a nice laugh. A little loud, kind of husky, but pure. 

“No hard feelings?” Holding out his hand, Jean waited, and Eren hesitated before giving a firm shake. 

“Yeah.” He was grinning now, too. “But your friends should apologize to Armin. It’s his birthday, after all.”

“Eren, that doesn’t matter.” Shoving his hands into his pockets, Armin looked between them both, giggling lightly at their puzzled expressions. “I mean, it’s not every birthday I get kicked out of a theater, right?”

It was true enough. All three shared a good laugh, and the two friends departed right after, Jean offering a small wave as they walked off. 

When Armin turned his head back in Jean’s direction, their gazes locked again. How many times had it been now? 

Had Jean’s heart always skipped a beat like this? 

\--

Fourth time’s the charm.

But not really.

It’s nearing Christmas. Christmas means family, friends, love. Things like that. 

And because that type of ideal surrounds the holiday, Armin found himself in the town’s flower shop, scarf wrapped tightly around his nose and mouth. For him, the pollen is just too much. 

Flowers for his mother. That’s his goal. Poinsettias. Vibrantly red, typical around this time of the year. Armin can recall how his mother would decorate their tiny apartment with them, make it glow with a sense of holiday spirit that neither of them actually had a need for.

He also recalls how his mother would care for them, though, and tell him that she met his father through the flowers. A tiny flower shop where two people in love came together.

Armin doesn’t remember his father. He was gone before Armin had turned two. He doesn’t remember how his mother sobbed for days after burying him, he doesn’t remember how she clung to Armin’s tiny body and rocked him back and forth, comforting herself more than she had her son. 

They were resting side by side now. Armin was thankful for that much. He would buy poinsettias for his father too. 

He hears the tingle of the bell above the shop’s door and a cheerful ‘Welcome!’ from behind the cashier’s desk. That doesn’t concern him. Instead, he grabs the two potted plants from a shelf, tucking them close to his body. 

When he turns a corner, he’s met with golden eyes. He had been right about the correct lighting thing. Jean’s eyes were beautiful, and definitely captured Armin for a good few seconds. 

“Armin--” 

“Hello again.”

The two exchange polite smiles, and Jean notices the flowers Armin holds. 

“Holiday shopping?” he asks. Armin nods, noting how stuffy his voice sounds. “Same here. Who for?”

“My mom and dad,” Armin answers. “These were my mom’s favorites.”

“What a good son,” Jean hums, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’m here for my parents too. Ma is so picky, though. Oh, these are kind of wilted~. Jean, don’t you love your mother enough to get her lively flowers~?”

Mocking his mother with an indignant huff, Jean grins when Armin begins laughing. He isn’t the most eloquent person Armin has met, but he likes it that way. There’s a certain charm to how rough around the edges Jean seems to be. 

“She sounds like a joy,” Armin responds, walking past him to go pay for his plants. 

Jean follows immediately. Armin lets him.

“Annoying, but I love her.”

“As you should.”

“Yeah.”

When they run out of words to say, Armin can feel the other man fidgeting from behind him. There was probably a reason he was still standing around, right? Jean straightens his posture when Armin turns to him, wearing that same smile, but with confused eyes to accompany it. 

“So,” Armin starts, “What are you going to buy for your mother?”

“Oh.”

Jean doesn’t respond immediately. So he hadn’t actually thought about that part?

“Do you want help?” 

Armin laughs when Jean visibly brightens at the request. That was probably a yes, right? Leaving his flowers with the cashier for the time being, Armin follows Jean down the rows, admiring the brightly colored petals as Jean surveys them intensely. 

Carefully, he pats Jean’s shoulder, making the other jump and snap out of his concentration. “You know, I’m sure your mother is only teasing you. I think she loves whatever you get her.”

“I dunno.” Exhaling, Jean leans back a bit, lips pursed as his eyes scan the shelves in front of him. “I’m just not getting a good feeling from any of them?”

“A good feeling?” Armin wasn’t sure what that meant. He doesn’t ask, and instead watches as Jean grabs a pot from the shelf and thrusts it in his direction. 

“Do these smell good?” he asks, and Armin has to back away, already feeling his eyes growing teary from the elongated time he’s spent in the shop. 

“Um--” 

“I have a major head cold right now,” he admits. “I can’t smell shit. You’re my last hope.”

Well, that was one way to get Armin to do what you wanted. Buckling up and taking a deep breath, Armin presses his nose into the flowers, giving a long sniff. 

They smelled like incoming allergies. 

“Uh, they’re fine,” Armin murmurs, feeling a sneeze creeping up and trying to hold it back. 

“Oh, really?” Jeans grins before going to grab another one. “What about these?”

Armin isn’t sure why he dutifully helps Jean pick out these death traps. By the time Jean makes a decision, Armin is a sniffling, puffy eyed mess, desperately trying to hide how red his nose is behind his scarf. 

Still, though. It’s nice to see how elated Jean is, saying something about how he knows that his mother will love what he’s picked. When Jean turns to him, the way his expression changes signals that he’s finally realized that something was off about Armin.

“Are you okay?” 

Grimacing behind the fabric, Armin averts his eyes before breathing out. Giving Jean a weary smile and shrug of the shoulders, he laughed once, though it was definitely strained. 

“Um. I’m kind of allergic to pollen.”

“Oh.”

It didn’t take long for Jean’s cheeks to flare up and a string of apologies began to flow from his mouth, shoving the plant back onto the shelf and hanging his head in shame. Armin allowed him to ramble until he ran out of words to say.

“I’m sorry,” he finally mumbled, voice small and pathetic, bashful. “I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t. Why would you?” 

Jean barely lifts his eyes and Armin snorts, shoving him gently. It catches Jean off guard and he stands straight again, brows knit together as he gives Armin a baffled look. In Armin’s eyes, he still had the appearance of a kicked puppy.

“Listen, don’t worry,” Armin reassures him, giving him that winning smile that had captured Jean the first time they met. “It’s not a big deal. Just a head cold.” 

“Oh.”

Armin’s smile is contagious. 

When Jean paid for his flowers and both left the shop, Jean offered one more apology, rubbing the back of his neck. Again, Armin waved it off. There was nothing to be angry about.

“You apologize too much,” Armin hums, putting his flowers into the basket on his bicycle and getting on, ready for the ride home. “Has anyone told you that?”

“Oh, uh. No?”

“Well, you do.”

“Sorry.”

“See?”

Jean snorted and looked away, cheeks either red due to the cold or the silly realization. “I don’t apologize that much, actually.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am! Only if I’m in the wrong, which is hardly ever.”

“I see~.”

When they part ways, Armin thinks back to a story his mother had told him when he was six. 

_“Your father was allergic. I didn’t even realize. I felt awful, but it was so funny.”_

_“Mommy, that’s mean!”_

_“Your father laughed, too!”_

He wasn’t sure why he had to remember now of all times. Pausing at a stop sign, Armin peered down at the flowers in his basket, a smile crept onto his lips, and a sneeze followed right after. 

She was right. This _was_ funny. 

\--

Their town wasn’t huge. 

It wasn’t exactly small either.

Size didn’t matter. The thing every town and city had in common was that they always had shortcuts of some kind. 

Pathways under a bridge that had dandelions springing up from cracks in the pavement or alleyways with cats wandering about, anything your mind could think of. All of these places had stories to tell. 

Nestled between two brick buildings was Jean’s regular shortcut to work and home. An alley with graffiti painting the walls surrounding it, flower boxes hanging from windows on second and third floors of the buildings, vines creeping up the worn surfaces. He had been using it since he was a small boy. If he had been upset, it was to this place he would escape, cry his eyes out, and come crawling home to his mother’s open arms.

In Jean’s eyes, it was his sanctuary. 

It was nearing six in the evening when Jean left work, climbing onto his bike, ready to go home, make dinner, proceed to pass out on his couch. Maybe he would even work in some studying. That would at least give him a sense of accomplishment for the day.

Pedaling against the wind that would occasionally blow past him, Jean rounded one corner after the other, finally coming up on his usual shortcut. That sanctuary he loved so. 

And then there was a collision in that safe haven. Both parties cried out, fell from their bikes, hit the pavement with loud thuds. It took a few moments for Jean to come to, feeling dazed as he sat up and rubbed at the spot where his head had bounced against the concrete and wincing at the surging pain that shot through him.

“Fuck…” 

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah-- I’m sorry--”

“Oh.”

Finally turning to the person he had collided with, Jean had to bite back a laugh. Armin didn’t even attempt to hold anything in, leaning against the building with a huge grin. 

Jean stood, feeling shaky on his own two feet, and picked his bike up. It… Well, it wasn’t awful. Just a little banged up. Armin’s was pretty okay, too. Thank goodness.

Moving to sit by the smaller man, Jean leaned his head back and sighed out, feeling out of breath and somehow delighted. “This happens way too much,” he murmured.

“It does.” There was no room to disagree here. 

“You alright?” Jean glanced to him and frowned when he saw Armin cradling his wrist, and he moved closer. “Did you hurt it?”

“I think it’s sprained. No big deal.”

“No big deal?” Jean repeated, not understanding how Armin was just okay with it. “It hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Well, yes.”

Jean couldn’t find the right words to say, so he opted to just stare at Armin, lips drawn into a thin line. Armin raised a brow and smiled at him. 

“Should I take you to the doctor?”

“I can do that myself. Don’t worry so much.”

“Ugh. Whatever.”

Leaning away from Armin and shaking his head, Jean realized something. 

This guy was kind of weird, wasn’t he.

He brushed off apologies, wasn’t angry when he had been kicked from a movie theater, let Jean stir up his allergies without a word to say, didn’t care when his wrist was sprained-- 

Jean had never met someone like this before. No one had ever been this unique to him. Of course, he had never accidentally hurt someone so much, either. 

“You’re really special.”

He hadn’t meant to say it outloud. It was a bad habit of his, one that had put him in sticky situations before. 

This was probably the worst.

A thin layer of sweat built up on his body and he glanced at Armin, who wasn’t looking at him. In fact, he was looking away. Had he even heard? Was he paying attention? Should Jean feel offended?

“You mean it?” 

Startled, Jean went tense and chewed on his lower lip when Armin turned those gorgeous blue eye of his to him. He was waiting for an answer. Jean didn’t know what to say.

“I-- I guess so, yeah?”

What was he supposed to say? 

“Then, thank you.” 

Jean was left to gawk at Armin again, who seemed to be in deep thought. Another silence had blossomed between them. Jean felt as if he should have been used to this by now. 

He wasn’t. He also wasn’t used to staying so close to Armin’s side. 

His hair looked soft. His lips were chapped, probably from the cold weather that late January brought. Freckles dotted the bridge of his nose and a few rested on his rosy cheeks, just below his round eyes. He had long lashes, too. 

Jean’s heart was pumping. When Armin glanced at him, he tore his eyes away, bashful and almost ashamed of how long he had been staring. How hadn’t he noticed before. How hadn’t he noticed just how gorgeous Armin was as a whole? 

Not just his laugh or his eyes, but everything about him seemed to be encompassed in a strange sense of beauty. Jean couldn’t put his finger on it. 

Magnificent was the only word that came to mind. 

“Jean.” 

“Yeah?”

He didn’t notice that Armin had gradually scooted closer to him. When their shoulders were touching, Jean felt like he was on fire, even through the heavy fabric that separated their bare skin. Was Armin feeling the same, too? 

He hoped. He really, truthfully hoped. He hoped he wasn’t the only one here who had noticed this spark.

A moment later, fingertips were brushing at the skin of his cheek, moving to the nape of his neck, and he followed Armin’s lead without hesitation. 

Their mouths fit perfectly together. Armin tasted sweet. His hands were cold. Both of their bodies were trembling. 

When Armin had pulled back, Jean only moved forward, capturing Armin’s lips in his own once more. A third time. A fourth. 

They stopped on the fifth. A kiss for each time they had met. 

“Jean,” Armin breathed, voice barely above a whisper. Their foreheads were touching, and Jean could feel those long eyelashes brushing against his cheek. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, not knowing what else to say.

“Don’t be.” 

Both of them laughed at how typical that phrase was, and Jean found himself wanting to complain when Armin pulled away from him. But he backed off, too, watched as Armin pulled his knees up to his chest, a puff of breath leaving his lips and linger in the air before dissolving. 

He wouldn’t lie. He wanted to be on those lips again and let Armin breathe into him instead.

“Do you believe in fate?” 

Pulling Jean out of his delusions, Armin’s question left him confused. Armin didn’t look at him. If he had been, Jean wasn’t sure if he would have been able to stop himself from kissing him again and again. 

But that wasn’t the matter at hand.

Repeating Armin’s question over in his mind, Jean wasn’t sure what to say. He had never thought about it before. He saw the concept in books and movies and video games, but he had never considered if it was a real thing or not.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, peeking at Armin and noticing a smile resting on his features. “Do you?”

“Yeah. I guess. I think so?” 

Armin stood suddenly, looking down at Jean with a soft expression, one that could melt the coldest of hearts. Jean stood with him, fidgeting, and didn’t fight it when Armin was wrapping his arms around his neck, kissing him again in that place he had come to call his sanctuary. 

“I’d like to, though.” 

Those words resonated within Jean for the rest of the day. 

That night, he didn’t sleep. 

When he did, his dreams were filled with a beautiful blue.

\--

Spring brings new life. That’s what we’re taught. 

A renewal, a time of growth, whether individually or as a whole. 

A time for hard working students who worried about their futures to focus on final exams. Those students needed all the energy they could get.

Coffee was the only answer. 

It was a busy day, Jean and just a few of his coworkers filling orders that came by the dozens. He honestly wished he didn’t have to be here. He had his own studies to be worrying about, but no. He had to be a good person and fill the shifts of others. 

What a joke. 

There were slow periods of time throughout the day, but those didn’t last nearly long enough. The longest had been thirty minutes, and they were back at it, a new hoard of people flooding in. 

Why did this town have so many students living here in the first place? 

Go somewhere else!

Perhaps Jean was just bitter. Bitter like the coffee he brewed day in and day out.

Armin found that he was no better. Waiting at the end of the line, he silently cursed the people ahead of him, checked his watch, tapped his foot. All he wanted was to go home and finish writing up his research paper, but apparently that wasn’t going to be happening any time soon. 

It was a solid fifteen minutes before he was at the front of the line. It was his luck that the worker was removing her apron, announcing that she was taking a break, for someone else to handle the customers.

Drumming his fingers against the spotless countertop, Armin waited, and waited, and was ready to voice a complaint until the new barista came up. Any words he had wanted to say were gone in an instant. 

“Armin.”

“Jean.”

It had been three months since that crash in the alleyway. Three months since those kisses, and three months since that question Armin had put forth. 

Armin broke out into a smile, and Jean returned it all the same. 

They had went separate ways after that last meeting, despite the length of time they hung around, lips lingering on each other as if being pressed together were the most natural thing in the world to them. 

What had they been thinking, not keeping in contact? 

They knew the answer to that.

They knew that somehow, they would be come back to each other. It was just a test. 

“What can I get you?” Jean asked, snorting when he broke Armin out of some kind of daze.

“Peppermint mocha.”

“On it.”

Their fingers brushed when Jean handed the styrofoam cup over to Armin, and Armin was quick to step out of the line and go find a spot to sit, any idea of going home leaving his mind. 

For an hour, he sat at the same table, watching Jean work through his shift. Even when his drink was gone, he didn’t move, and felt his heart race when he saw Jean removing his apron and announcing his shift end. 

Just a few minutes later and they were sitting across from each other, no words being exchanged at first.

“I didn’t have to apologize for anything this time.” Jean was the first to speak. 

“You’re right.”

Armin placed his chin in the palm of his hand, a peal of laughter escaping him. 

Yes. Jean had definitely loved the sound of his grandmother’s wind chimes. Jean definitely loved the sound of Armin’s laughter.

Love?

Well, it certainly didn’t sound wrong. 

“I’ve never seen you work here before,” Armin told him, eyes darting between Jean and his empty cup. 

“It was only recent.”

“That so?”

“Yeah.”

For the first time, the silence that followed was comfortable. The low murmur of chatter in the shop surrounded them. 

“Armin?”

Lifting his gaze, Armin tilted his head to the side, noticing how serious and determined Jean’s expression had become. 

“Yes?”

“I do.”

“Do what?”

“I _do_ believe in fate.”

Ah.

After processing that, Armin beamed at Jean’s words, and Jean relaxed, returned the smile, allowed the hand that crept across the table to grasp his own. He gave a squeeze. Armin’s hands were still as soft as the first time _fate_ had brought them together. 

“That’s great, Jean. I was just thinking the same thing.” 

It all started with an iced tea and a white tshirt. 

There wasn’t an ending.

There was just an empty coffee cup that sat alone at a soon empty table.

An empty coffee cup and brand new beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm proud of this, actually. It was fun to write.  
> Comments and kudos are always welcome.


End file.
